


We Dream of a Brand New Start

by the_sky_is_forever



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Complicated Relationships, Kissing, Love Confessions, M/M, Past Relationship(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-17
Updated: 2016-02-17
Packaged: 2018-05-21 07:01:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6042448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_sky_is_forever/pseuds/the_sky_is_forever
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enjolras’ lips are parted, amazed that Grantaire could be drawing him now, when the room is warm and comfortable, when he’s tired and soft, when the world is quiet and for all Grantaire knows, Enjolras is sleeping in the arms of another man.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We Dream of a Brand New Start

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not really sure what this is, exactly. All I know is I saw this piece of art: plantkin-art.tumblr.com/post/127028596472 and couldn't help myself.  
> I have a bit of a fascination over the possible relationship between Enjolras and Feuilly so that ended up in here as well.  
> I hope you like it, feel free to talk to me about it.

Enjolras is sitting on the stairs, peering through the banisters and looking down at the living room. Perched in his dark hiding spot, no one in the living room knows he’s there. The only light source is the glow from the fire in the hearth and he smiles, listening to their idle conversation.

Directly below him sits Grantaire, curled up in an arm chair. His head is bowed over his sketch book, and though he glances up at the others every now and then to laugh at something they said, he’s focused intently on his drawing. Enjolras can’t see what he’s drawing from where he is, but he knows it’ll be good from the glances he’s seen of Grantaire’s other drawings.

Enjolras’ biggest wish is for Grantaire to trust him enough to show him his drawings. (Perhaps not quite his biggest wish.)

Enjolras rests his head against a wooden post in the banisters, wrapping his arms around his knees and smirking at a story Courfeyrac is telling Jehan and Joly animatedly. Bahorel, Éponine, and Combeferre are playing cards by the fire, and Combeferre occasionally looks over at Courfeyrac to correct him on something in the story.

They all think he’s gone to bed with Feuilly, and Enjolras only feels a little guilty at that: one, for secretly listening in on their conversations and two, for not having told them yet that he and Feuilly are no longer together. He’s going to. Eventually. Feuilly’s leaving it up to him, but he knows every time Feuilly looks at him that he’s ready and it’s only Enjolras that is keeping them from truly moving on.

Enjolras feels a frown tugging at the corner of his mouth, and he rubs his knees and bites his lip. Cosette yawns loudly where she’s curled up against Courfeyrac, and Enjolras fights a yawn of his own. He can’t go to bed.

Feuilly and he are still sharing a room since the others think they’re both still together, and Enjolras can’t bear it. He’s still a little heartbroken, if he’s truly honest. Maybe that’s why Feuilly is being so kind about his slow approach to admitting they’re over – Enjolras hadn’t really wanted them to be.

He looks down at Grantaire, soft and glowing in the amber light of the fire. His tank top shows the bare skin of his arms and shoulders, dipping down a little at his back, too, as he hunches over to draw. As Enjolras watches, Grantaire changes position, moving his feet from under him to sit with his feet planted on the floor, and the movement moves his sketch book to where Enjolras can see it.

It takes Enjolras’ breath away.

It’s him.

The drawing of him is just black lines, the white of the page filling the spaces, and Enjolras in the drawing is looking away, eyes covered by his curly hair. Grantaire leans over to the coffee table at his side, where his mug of tea has no doubt gone cold by now, to put the black pencil down and pick up another. He starts to colour around Enjolras on the paper, surrounding him with a red filled rounded-rectangle, a solid background.

Enjolras’ lips are parted, amazed that Grantaire could be drawing him now, when the room is warm and comfortable, when he’s tired and soft, when the world is quiet and for all Grantaire knows, Enjolras is sleeping in the arms of another man.

When Combeferre yawns loudly and gets to his feet, stretching and holding out a  hand for Éponine, and the others all start moving too, stretching their stiff limbs and getting ready to head to bed, Enjolras quietly gets to his feet and slips upstairs.

He quietly goes into his and Feuilly’s temporary room in the large house the group is renting and stands in the room, watching his ex-lover’s chest rise and fall with his gentle breaths in the depths of sleep. Enjolras tiptoes across to him and presses the tenderest of kisses to his forehead. Feuilly doesn’t stir. “I’ll likely never stop loving you,” Enjolras tells him in the quietest whisper, more a breath of air than anything else, “but I think you might be right about me and him.”

He heads down the stairs, smiling at his friends as they all make their way upstairs to bed. (“Just getting a drink, sleep well,” he tells them all.) Grantaire’s still in the living room, sketchbook now closed, now sitting in front of and staring at the fire that’s slowly dying. Enjolras stares at the back of Grantaire’s head for a second, and then walks over to him and sits down beside him.

Grantaire looks over at him, a surprised expression on his face, and Enjolras looks back.

He says, “Feuilly and I broke up three weeks ago,” because what else is there to say.

Grantaire’s expression barely changes, just a flicker of uncertainty behind his eyes. “I’m sorry to hear that,” he says, at last.

“Are you?” Enjolras asks.

Grantaire looks back at the fire. He shrugs. “I don’t know. Maybe,” he says. Then he says, “Why haven’t you told people?”

Enjolras draws in a breath and watches a log turn into ashes before his very eyes. “The breakup was his idea. I… I didn’t want to end things. I love him. Very much. He… He’s being very kind, not insisting I tell people. I think he knows how… conflicted I am.”

“Conflicted?” Grantaire asks.

“I love him,” Enjolras repeats, feeling like it’s himself he’s trying to convince, “and I want us to give it another go, and to tell people it’s over would be for it to become real. Final. I’m… I’m not sure I’m ready for that.”

“But how are you conflicted?” Grantaire asks. His voice is soothing, like honey, and it makes Enjolras smile, despite everything.

Enjolras turns to look at him. One hand reaches out towards him, fingers hovering just above the skin of Grantaire’s jawline. He breathes out sharply, and murmurs, “Grantaire.”

Grantaire looks helpless, staring at him like he’s the night sky, and the firelight dances over Grantaire’s skin, making him even more beautiful. Enjolras begins to lean in, fingers pressing more firmly against his cheek, eyes fixed on Grantaire’s lips.

“Please don’t,” Grantaire says, rushed and weak.

Enjolras pulled his hand away immediately, stung. “I’m sorry,” he says, looking down at the floor.

Grantaire breathes out, shakily. “Enjolras, I love you,” he says. “I’ve always loved you, and I always will, I think, because even when I was with Floréal, when I was with Louison, even when I was with _Combeferre_ , Enjolras, my love for them was always detracted from by my love for _you_. It’s impossible to put into words-”

“You’re doing it pretty well,” Enjolras interjects quietly.

“-how much my love for you is overwhelming and encompassing. And I sort of hate it. Not completely, I couldn’t, but a little. For- For so many reasons. I can hardly do things around you without thinking about how it could impress you, how it could make you smile, how it could make you _look at me_. I hated that because I lost my autonomy a little, but also because of what I felt I was doing to Feuilly. I wanted to take you away from him, and I love him. Not- Not in the way I love you, I mean. He’s one of my best friends, and I wanted to ruin his relationship out of selfishness. Enjolras, I _love_ you, but it’s not at all healthy, and it’s not good for _me-_ ” he breaks off, suddenly, head twisting away abruptly, looking in the opposite direction.

Enjolras follows his gaze, but can’t see anything that Grantaire might be looking at. Coming to the conclusion that Grantaire is just embarrassed, or wanted to hide his face, Enjolras carefully reaches out and puts his hand on Grantaire’s knee. “R,” he says, kindly.

“And it’s not good for you,” Grantaire finishes quietly, still not looking at him.

Every conversation about his romantic feelings in the past has made Enjolras’ stomach twist and turn and flip like nothing on Earth. Usually, talking about love and… weakness, makes Enjolras feel edgy and scared and a little sick.

He feels nothing like this now. It’s almost scary how calm he feels about it all. Clinical.

“I think,” he starts, in a clear voice, “that I love you. I think that I have done for a long time. I also think you may be a little right in what you’re saying about… selfishness. Honestly, though? I think we can work through and with that. Because we love each other.”

Grantaire turns to look at him again.

“However,” Enjolras continues, “if you don’t want to date me, if you want to become more ‘healthy’ in your romantic feelings, for me or for someone else, then I won’t stop you. If being with me genuinely isn’t good for you, then don’t be. If you think, though, that there is a chance that we could be good together, and this isn’t just you worrying about _me_ , then let us have that chance, Grantaire. Let us give it ago.”

Grantaire’s frowning at him, but not in an upset or angry way. More confused, than anything else. Uncertainty – maybe that’s it. “You said you wanted to try it again with Feuilly.” Grantaire looks at Enjolras’ hand resting on his knee. “You said you love him.”

“I do,” Enjolras replies. “He’s very important to me, and was the first person I truly believed I could spend the rest of my life with.”

“And you’re not over him,” Grantaire adds, and it’s not a question.

“No,” Enjolras agrees. “I’m not.”

“And your solution to that is to… Is for us to get together?” Grantaire asks.

Enjolras stays silent and watches the shadows dance across his face. He nods, slowly. “Feuilly doesn’t love me anymore. Not in the way that I love him.”

“But you do love him,” Grantaire says.

“ _Yes_ , Grantaire,” Enjolras bursts out. “Yes I love him, yes I wish he loved me too, yes I’ll love him for the rest of my life, yes, yes, _yes_. But he doesn’t love me. He’ll be infinitely happier if I just _let him go_. And you’ll be infinitely happier if I just let myself love _you_.”

Grantaire’s face is impassive, his eyes almost hidden by shadows, hair falling across his face. He pushes it back, and in the light of the fire Enjolras catches sight of that impossible blue. He has bags under his eyes and a birthmark that covers almost all of his left cheek, and Enjolras has never seen anyone more beautiful. The soft light of the fire makes Grantaire look undeniably _alive_.

“But you don’t,” Grantaire says. “Love me. You don’t.”

“I could. I almost do,” Enjolras replies. “Feuilly thinks I do. I think he might be right.”

It’s almost too easy to talk about this openly. Here, in the dead of night.

“Grantaire, R, when you look at me I feel like I can do _anything_ , because I know that you believe in me. Every time I see you I desperately want you to smile in my direction, whether it’s because of something I did or not. I’ve felt this way for a long time, but none of that compares to the way I’ve felt tonight, seeing you here in this light, just _looking at me_. I feel… _infinite_.”

Grantaire looks to be fighting a smile, and he looks down at his knees. When he glances up, he’s almost smirking, and he says, “That was impossibly cliché, Enjolras.”

Enjolras laughs, then. “I know,” he replies.

“I’m not ready,” Grantaire says, sombrely. “I- I don’t think it’s a good idea, right now.”

Enjolras looks down, abashed. “All right,” he says.

Grantaire’s fingers caress his face and tuck his hair behind his ear gently. He’s close, so close. Enjolras looks up into his face, expression open and lovely.

“One kiss?” Enjolras hears himself ask.

Grantaire’s face spreads into a languid smile, and he whispers, “All right,” before leaning in.

Grantaire’s lips are soft as they fit against his, and their mouths move against each other’s with ease, tongues pressing together, and Enjolras’ body moves almost automatically to get himself nearer to Grantaire, resulting in their bodies flushed together, and it feels wonderful to have Grantaire pressed against him, pliable under his touch.

Enjolras is the one to pull away, and he smiles happily at Grantaire, somewhat love-drunk and blissful.

“We should probably get to bed,” Enjolras says.

“Okay,” Grantaire agrees. “I’m in with Bahorel and Jehan, or I’d invite you into my bed.”

Enjolras blushes. “That’s all right. It would be too fast anyway. Remember, we’re not doing anything. Not yet.”

Grantaire smiles and kisses him again, too fast for Enjolras to react. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Enjolras,” he says, and leaves Enjolras sitting in the glow of the fire on a threadbare carpet, smiling at the empty space Grantaire left behind.

At long last, Enjolras gets to his feet and steadily climbs the stairs up to his and Feuilly’s room. He slips into bed with Feuilly, who opens up his arms for him, half-awake.

“Feuilly?” Enjolras whispers. When Feuilly makes a noise to show he’s listening, Enjolras continues to say, “I love you. You know that. But you were right. I love him too, and I think I could be really happy with him. So, thank you, for that. I wish we could have worked out, God, I really do, but I think you’re right.”

Feuilly is silent, and Enjolras thinks he might have fallen back asleep, until Feuilly says, “You’re welcome, Enjolras. I’m sorry I had to hurt you, and I do love you, too, but I’m sure you’ll be happier this way.”

Enjolras breathes in deeply and doesn’t say that he was happy with Feuilly, because what’s the point? Instead he rolls over and wraps his arms around Feuilly, kissing him on the chin, because that’s the only place he can reach, and he can hear a small huff of a laugh from Feuilly in the darkness. Enjolras smiles and whispers, “Goodnight, Feuilly.”

“Night, Enj,” Feuilly replies, and they fall asleep together, warm and comfortable, with no regrets and a lifetime of happiness ahead of them. Enjolras can no longer feel Grantaire’s lips against his, but that’s not what matters. What matters is he can remember the moment, remember Grantaire’s soft smile and the way his mouth shapes the words ‘I love you’.

He can’t wait to see what they become.

**Author's Note:**

> My normal tumblr is nerds-are-cool and my writing blog is theskyis-forever if you'd like to send me a prompt or just chat about my writing!  
> Also, if you enjoyed this: [buy me a coffee?](http://ko-fi.com/A831F9U)


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